


Hello again, Donatello

by dashloid



Series: Dumpster Lawyers [2]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dumpster Lawyers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashloid/pseuds/dashloid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel for this <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3759175">drabble</a> (requested by many, sure), about lawyers who accidentally meet in a dumpster</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello again, Donatello

Jimmy McGill hangs around the police station like a vulture waiting for carrion. A very sad small vulture with an empty bank account. And it’s preferable for the carrion to be alive. When Jimmy thinks about the metaphor, he gets lost and discards it. Here’s another: Jimmy McGill hangs around the police station, like a raccoon expecting to find food in a dumpster.

A door opens, creaking like an arthritic joint. A bored policeman steps away, to let people through, and yawns. Jimmy barely resists yawning himself, a mix of chain yawn reaction and boredom. His jaw aches with the effort it takes to keep his mouth closed. He would buy a coffee if the machine didn’t sport a piece of paper with a hand-written “Sorry, broken” on it. But at least, after all the waiting, the door opens.

And speaking in a soft low voice to the guy, who’s leading him by the arm, a potential client appears. Jimmy forgets about the shakespearean “to yawn or not to yawn” dilemma all at once and tries to listen in on the conversation. The quiet guy sports shades with eccentric round frames, and an angry red bruise near his eye. A street fight, maybe? ("Self defense, of course it was self defense, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Look, my client can’t even walk on his own.") Rejoice, Jimmy the Vulture, the carrion has arrived. At last the raccoon has found some leftovers in the dumpst-

Now, speaking of dumpsters. He knows  _the voice_. He may not be that good at finding clients, but Jimmy can connect the dots. Except there’s one thing he doesn’t really understand.

As his buddy leaves to get something, the owner of the voice now has to walk alone. Which he does, looking ahead of himself and tapping the floor with a white cane, left-right-left-right like a metronome. You gotta be kidding.

Ok, but at least Jimmy still knows the guy was in a fight, however _that_ happened.

“Wait, hey!” he yelps and almost runs towards the dumpster fighter. “You’re the guy I saw yesterd-”

He’s about to jog past his almost-client to stand in front of him, when the guy lashes out his cane, catching Jimmy mid-step and sending his face to meet the floor. Jimmy is mildly offended, but keeps a faint hope the guy didn't do that on purpose. He couldn’t predict where Jimmy would run, could he?

Face still polishing the floor, Jimmy says “Hello again, Donatello!” but the sound comes out muffled, partly because the words are said into the linoleum, partly because the fall happened to split Jimmy’s lip.

***

For a second of cold sticky panic Matt Murdock thinks the guy actually said “Daredevil.” Then, of course, “Donatello” reaches his ears again, because the guy insists on repeating it _a lot_. Matt doesn’t need to recognize the voice, because after Donatello he also gets called Leonardo.

“We’ve seen each other before!” the dumpster stalker accuses, while getting up and - judging by the slaps - dusting off his pants aggressively.

“Not exactly possible,” smiles Matt a polite small talk smile. Addressing words “see” and “look” usually throws people off a bit, and he needs to throw this one off. 

Foggy, meanwhile, shuffles back smelling of coffee he got somewhere miraculously, and stands there,  _breathing_ , and trying to assess what is going on. Strangely none of the police care. Well, not strangely, really.

“Sorry,” Matt remembers to apologize. Should’ve done that before, “about the, uh…” He waves the cane a bit in an innocent not-my-fault fashion.

“I’ve had worse,” the guy pauses for a breath, “Is this why you’re in here? How many people you injured like that already? Any.. broken legs, fractured skulls? You’re like, some local serial killer?”

That prompts a tiny smile from Matt, which he has to suppress.

“I told you you’d need a lawyer. Now look at you, you’re hurting people  _at a police station_. That’s a new low.”

Foggy lets out a huff, that means he’s frowning.

“Anyhow, Michelangelo, you’re in luck today,” the guy rummages in his pocket with a papery sound, searching for a card. There’s about two or three or those, the guy’s budget is low. “If you need a lawyer, just dial this number. Or, like, ask your friend to dial it for you.”

“Mister…”

“McGill.”

“Mister McGill, there must've been a misunderstanding. I don't think we've met before, because otherwise you'd know, I  _am_  a lawyer,” Matt savors the moment so much he almost feels guilty.

Mister McGill gulps. Good.

“Well,” he replies at last with a helpless little laugh, “at least that explains why you tripped me. Competition is harsh these days, one has to fight to get ahead," he shuffles as nobody laughs at the joke, "Well, uh, it was nice to meet you, mister…”

He has to give up the name and, combined with the dumpster story, it makes Matt uncomfortable.

“Murdock.” 

“…mister Murdock.” From the pause Matt realizes that he’s expected to shake hands, which he does, reluctantly.

"See you around, mister Murdock."

"Can't promise the same."

They both chuckle.

Foggy drags him by the elbow the rest of the way, and when they’re out of the building (sunlight pleasantly warm on Matt’s face), he finally stops, hands him his coffee and asks

“Who the hell is that guy and why was he yelling the names of ninja turtles at you?”

"I thought he was listing painters."

"Very funny."


End file.
